The Life of the Fly 



above all, patience. My extravagant expen- 

 diture of twenty francs, therefore, will be a 

 risky speculation if devoted to the purchase of 

 an apparatus of study. It will bring me in 

 nothing in the way of fresh views, of that I 

 am convinced. However, let us try. 



The blacksmith makes me the framework 

 of a cage out of a few iron rods. The joiner, 

 who is also a glazier on occasion — for, in my 

 village, you have to be a Jack-of-all-trades if 

 you would make both ends meet — sets the 

 framework on a wooden base and supplies it 

 with a movable board as a lid; he fixes thick 

 panes of glass in the four sides. Behold the 

 apparatus, complete, with a bottom of tarred 

 sheet-iron and a trap to let the water out. 



The makers express themselves satisfied 

 with their work, a singular novelty in their 

 respective shops, where many an inquisitive 

 caller has wondered what use I intend to make 

 of my little glass trough. The thing creates a 

 certain stir. Some insist that it is meant to 

 hold my supplies of oil and to take the place 

 of the receptacle in general use in our parts, 

 the urn dug out of a block of stone. What 

 would those utilitarians have thought of my 

 crazy mind, had they known that my costly 

 gear would merely serve to let me watch some 



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